Zoro's Hatin' On the Club
by Lady Emzebel
Summary: Truth be told, Zoro despises clubs and yet, he always feels a strange inclination to attend one when the opportunity arises. It takes a drunk cook and a skeleton for him to figure out why that is. Oneshot with hearty dose of crack.


Title: Whoaaaa, Zoro's Hatin' On the Club

Pairing: Zoro/Sanji, Drunk!Sanji/Brook

Rating: T for alcoholic situations, crude language, and sexual themes.

Timeframe: Post-Impel Down, pre-"The Vegetable Must Be Destroyed" fic.

Warnings: No spoilers really, just a bit—okay a lot—of crack, slight OCC (but seeing as we've never seen Sanji wasted, who's to say, huh?)

Disclaimer: One Piece belongs solely to Oda-sama and the wonderful people who animate it for him...and a bunch of other people who aren't me. XD

Prizes (aka cyber cookies) for the people who count how many times I've used the word booze in this fic. Hey, can you guess my new favourite word?

-----X3-----

Darkness highlighted in neon; the rank stench of booze, cheap perfume, body fluids; a sweaty, heaving mass of bodies undulating on a sticky dance floor to a pulsing rhythm with coarse, kinky lyrics and a deafening beat.

"_Got the hoes blowed out, put the coke up they nose,  
Next thing I know, got the dick clean down they throat..."_

A club.

A seedy, non-descript club—just like any other—complete with a forgettable, if not repulsively vulgar, name, ridiculously strong liquor, and squalid bathrooms. All in all, pretty skanky.

"_Suckin' nut up, not a drop they was wasted,  
Kissin' each other, big smiles on they faces!"_

Nevertheless, it was a precious haven to the Mugiwara Pirates' archaeologist and navigator. After all, where else could the former obtain such valuable information on a historical treasure currently located on private land, while the latter picked a few heartily-lined pockets to add to the safe-box.

Heh, who'd have thought such wealthy, "respectable" men hung out in joints like this.

Perhaps, it had something to do with the lithe, scantily-clad women entwining themselves around the poles on stage in the lewdest possible manner.

Yeah...that was probably it.

"_Dirty bitch, a dirty bitch, a dick eatin', _

_Dirty bitch, a dirty bitch, a dick eatin'!  
Youse a dry effin lil' heffer, lil' heffer,_

_Youse a dry effin lil' heffer, lil' heffer!"_

Simultaneously, three men grimaced at the foul lyrics: the first; because yuppie music was just _not_ his thing, the second; because he was firmly against this kind of derogatory shit towards women, and the third; because the distraction was getting in the way of his drinking.

Despite their shared hatred of the current surroundings, the three of them knew why they had come: to keep an eye on the girls.

It was only because of that very same reason they had stayed in this festering slagheap at all.

Not that the two young ladies couldn't defend themselves—it wasn't that at all—but should a heavy-handed drunkard make the fatal mistake of groping at ample cleavage...well, that's all it'd take for the said drunkard's head to be split open like a ripe melon by a Clima-tact and a dozen or so hands.

So yeah, the ladies needed to be watched.

But it does make you wonder how effective this watching procedure really is when said ladies have willingly vanished into a private backroom with some seriously dodgy-looking men, leaving the three watchers cooling their heels in the not-so-private front area.

Knowing the two girls well, however, the watchers weren't too worried and had decided to make use of the copious supply of terrible music, and not-half-bad-if-you-enjoy-sewer-water booze at their disposal while they waited for the masculine screams of agony that would signify their abrupt departure.

In this time, they had quickly gotten bored and it wasn't long before two of the self-proclaimed guards—the ship's cook and first mate—started one of their stupid contests (a drinking game this time) with one another, as they were wont to do. Their nakama, the musician, just watched, slowly sipping rum from a grimy glass.

After about six pints, the blonde, curly-browed teen was—in his own words—"jusshlightlytih-hic-ipshy".

Or so he said...or seemed to say...it was rather hard to tell. By this point he had long since bypassed "slurred" and had graduated to "inarticulate and incomprehensible".

The blonde's opponent, a muscular hunk with green hair and three earrings, smirked at him from across the table, and watched the cook rise, swaying a little, and stagger to the bathroom. The musician watched him go with an air of concern, before excusing himself to go and assist his inebriated nakama.

Zoro waved to the pretty barmaid doing her rounds and requested a refill. She sloshed a swill-coloured liquid from a decrepit pitcher into his mug and smiled at him coyly. Zoro's only reply was a curt nod and a clear dismissal in the form of a cold shoulder. The girl huffed sulkily and left, insulted.

As she did so, the chorus of a new song started up, this one far less crude and slightly easier on the ears than the previous.

"_Whoaaaa, you got me hatin' on the cluuuuub..."_

_Amen to that, _Zoro mused grimly as he took a swig of grog and winced. At the bar they'd _said _it was grog, but it tasted like shit; Zoro wasn't about to complain though.

Why?

One, it was booze. Booze was booze. Who gave a shit about what booze tasted like?

'_Cept the prissy ero-cook that is..._

And two, if he started a ruckus now the witch would have his head...and most likely his ball sack too.

"_...whoaaa, I'm hatin' on the club..."_

_Yeah, yeah I got yah the first time...whiny friggin' chick. Damn, I hate clubs. Shit music...shit booze...shit people...why am I saying shit so much? I sound like the damn cook... _

Zoro swept his drink and the two abandoned glasses up off the table as a pair of rowdy dancers crashed into the table, effectively destroying it, and fell down with a series of dull, vaguely sickening thuds.

The swordsman, still sitting in his chair, glared down at the groaning tangle of limbs before him in disgust. Then he stood and moved over one table to the right. His new position offered him the perfect view of the dance floor and mercifully blocked off the majority of the strippers onstage.

And then two girls on the dance floor started making out fervently with each other while sandwiched between a growing mosh of horny males, and Zoro rolled his eyes at the sight.

_Why did I come here? Brook and Sanji would have been perfectly capable of watching the girls without me. I could be training...sleeping...listening to Usopp blabber on about nonsense...anything more productive..._

A skinny girl stuffed into provocative clothing and caked with too much make up sashayed over to the swordsman and plonked herself directly in his lap.

"Wanna go sugar?"

"Nah thanks doll, I'm taken." Taking pity on her—the girl only looked about _twelve_ for Christ's sake—Zoro slipped a few hundred-belli notes, pilfered from the safe for booze (Nami would have his hide later), into her sweaty palm and gently, but firmly, booted her out of his lap. As the hooker left—probably to go eat her first decent meal in days—his previous thought train continued interrupted.

_...hell, I'd even take playing hide and seek with Luffy and Chopper over this. Why did I put myself in with the prozzies and the smackheads?_

As if summoned by his thoughts, a shady young man approached him and tried to sell him something poisonous, illegal and highly addictive.

"Get a real job asshole."

Zoro smacked him round the head—hard—with a sheathed Kitetsu and sent him on his way. No other dealers bothered him after that.

_Let's see...um...I was bored? Nah, that's not it..._

Suddenly the swordsman found his thoughts interrupted again. Though this time, he didn't really mind the reason.

"_...you got me in a crazy position,_

_If you're on a mission, you got my permission..." _

His ears faintly picked up the sound of a thudding beat and sensual-sounding lyrics as every ounce of his willpower went to the task of preventing all blood from spurting from his nose. Well...all the blood that hadn't already flooded down south.

Not a moment ago, Sanji and Brook had resurfaced from the bathroom (damn long queues), unnoticed by the contemplative Zoro.

What had started out as a simple task for Brook to get the inebriated cook back to the table had quickly mutated into the near-impossible mission of getting him off the dance floor. It seemed that a good song had come on, and Sanji just hadn't been able to resist the temptation to dance.

"_...Gimme, gimme more,_

_Gimme more, gimme, gimme more..."_

And that was what Zoro was staring at now, getting impossibly hard as he did so: a pert ass in delectable skin-tight slacks wiggling, shaking, and...holy fuck..._thrusting_ in time to the music.

_Do I really hate clubs? Really? When I get to see that?_

In an attempt to prevent drool gushing from his mouth, Zoro stuffed his face into his mug and slurped noisily.

"_...Gimme more, gimme, gimme more..."_

_Yes...please do. Give me more._

'Twas a perverse god that answered Zoro's pleas, for not seconds after the thought had crossed his mind Sanji decided it would be fun to grab Brook by his bony ass and press their hips together, grinding like a horny high school couple.

Grey eyes widened in surprise and half a mug of grog was spewed across the filthy table, followed by coughing and choking.

Dark, empty sockets stared blankly but emotion was betrayed as a skeletal jaw dropped almost to the floor.

The cook just closed his eyes and swayed, then proceeded to show off outrageous displays of promiscuity and flexibility while still pressed very close to the musician.

_Seriously_, Zoro thought, staring at his boyfriend as he shifted positions and placed his butt against Brook's crotch and resumed gyrating not five feet away, _how fucking drunk do you have to be to confuse me with the damn skeleton_?

Placing his now empty mug on the greasy table top, Zoro wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and continued to watch his nakama, one now voraciously humping the leg of the other.

"Yohohohohoho!"

Brook, having gotten over his initial shock, seemed amused by the whole situation, and Zoro honestly could blame him. Seriously, it wasn't every day he got to see his normally cool, chic nakama writhing and twisting on a dance floor like an animal in heat.

Sanji, however, seemed rather out of it and was completely oblivious to what he was doing. He even had this cute little grin on his face like he was having the time of his life.

_Probably is, horny bastard. I'd forgotten what a tragic little slut he becomes when he's drunk._

But there was no real vehemence or malice in these thoughts, and Zoro had to smile as he watched the increasingly hilarious scene before him.

Zoro was certainly possessive, even something of the jealous type—and he didn't deny it—but he knew perfectly well that everyone in the Mugiwara crew knew Sanji was _his. _Had it been anyone else but their nakama grinding with Sanji right now, Zoro would have definitely broken some heads.

_After all, it's only Brook. He would never do anything to harm the daft curlicue..._

...and then Zoro caught sight of three ridiculously buff men—one scarred, one tattooed, and one totally high on something—slinking towards _his _boyfriend with lecherous intent written large across their ugly mugs.

_Fuck, now I remember why I hate clubs so much..._

Zoro swiftly stood and made his way over, fingers already itching for his katana, sure as hell ready to break some heads. He didn't even give Nami and the potential loss of his balls a single thought as he approached.

_The cook's a goddamn magnet for pimps._

-----X3-----

I'm not even going to attempt to surmise where this one came from. I knew only six little words and I was off. What words you ask? Sanji. Brook. Drunk. Grinding. Zoro. Watching. XD

Strangely enough, I seem to have developed a liking for incorporating songs into my fics as of late. I promise I'll do it no more...*twitches*...maybe.

Songs are, in order: Dirty Bitch by 3-6 Mafia, Hatin' on the Club by Rhianna, and Gimme More by Britney Spears.

I despise the first but I did need something bad enough for _all _the lads to cringe at. The second is okay; basically I just like the chorus. The third is my guilty pleasure. I _love_ this song. X3

I'd like to point out that I believe not all "loose" women are bad. Since I have no idea about their backgrounds I have no right to judge. Also, I'd love to learn pole dancing. So yeah, please don't think I'm a judgemental prude. XD

You'll also be happy to know that on her way to a cheap eatery, the young (and still virginal) hooker came across an ad asking for help in a dog washing business. Taking a chance, the girl applied and was hired, quickly rising through the ranks till she was appointed manager of the business. Along the way she met the son of one of her older coworkers, the reformed drug dealer (seems he took that advice to heart eh?). They fell in love and were married on a beach in Shahanshoon (a popular holiday resort). They raised fat babies and both of them lived a good long life. Ahhh.

The pimps...were hospitalized...for a good loooong time.


End file.
